Page 58
By Jack Joseph Smith
Earth
This star I found, this madness I have created
The endurance lives I'vve touched have shown
Trees whose leaves single out bodies of stars
Valleys that run corn and hybiscus across creeks,
and the lonely hats bent by last by their family straws
Rivers gullied off the canyons of disbelief
Never caught to carry a century of dreams
Flat nosed negros and drawed chin Anglo Saxions
Roll eyed Spanish speaking knife fighters,
and closed up thinned than a cross, wild American
Indian drunks, All stand as the the trees left,
never to be glossed, there words unshaken, deliberate
Alone our Sun is not the judge of our end, so many
years from now it will come and rap it up, our outrage
plays to God, the abstract one, Convincincely the one
we can not see, while my luck has me in North America:
which seen is the best the planit has, and so through
this we of course are fashist; afraid and stuck to our
condinsation more than ever our mid western cattle and
crops, we go to bed and whine our way through drawing
moons, the stars tell our toil at hairdresser shops and
over coffie. while some pack up the foil of a wrench, and
like Dartanion go to put brotherhood back together, YET once
again, will be our first time